Backapcking Burro: The Journey Begins

The morning sun rose over the white stone roofs of Cowell. I emerged from a dream laden sleep in which I had been pursued by wolves, torn apart by slavering jaws and fused back together by tongues of green fire. I knew before I opened my eyes that the events of the previous day were not part of some fevered hallucination, but I felt my face and head all the same, groaning as I found the hard, smooth horns exactly where they had been the night before.

“Good morning,” said the old shaman, “You slept fitfully, I’m afraid. You seemed troubled by dream spirits, but I sang them away in the end. Breakfast? How do you like your eggs? Scrambled I hope?”

I turned and sat, blinking across the fire, my stomach suddenly very aware of the smells my nose had picked up a long time ago. The shaman was expertly cooking a meal of baked beans and eggs in one tin, whilst boiling tea in another and toasting thick slices of bread on improvised twig skewers. Baked beans. God, how long had it been since I had tasted them? Nothing like them seem to exist in this new world and I felt my mouth water in anticipation at their simple pleasure.

He finished and handing me the hot tin to eat directly out of. As hungry as I was (and I was) I made a mental note that if I were to be dining alfresco more often, then I would need some plates and cutlery to at least appear civilised!

The old man watched me eat with a self-satisfied smile, laughing out loud when I paused nervously, my lips hovering at the tea cup’s rim. “Drink. It is not drugged, I assure you.” After a second’s further pause, I decided to take my chances and gulped the tea down. All too soon the meal was finished and I sat back, looking at the old shaman.

“Yes?” he asked

“Well… What now?”

“Now?”

“Yes. What do I do next.”

“I thought you had decided to explore the village and the forest some more.”

“What, I just go? No idea what I’m looking for? No clue? No map?”

“You worry too much, young one. The backpack will guide you, as you will guide it. Give yourself to adventure.”

As I thought about this, I idly pulled my bedroll up to ward off the morning chill that bit at me despite the small campfire.

“Cold?” he asked, “Well, we will have to do something about that, although in time you will become accustomed to wearing fewer clothes; after all, when did you last see a gazelle in a waterproof jacket?” he teased. “Have a look in your backpack.”

“My…? I did, yesterday. It was empty, more or less.” The shaman just smiled at me so I pulled the pack onto my lap and opened it. There, inside, I was amazed to see a neatly folded shirt and pair of trousers. Underneath, as I pulled them out, sat a rugged pair of walking boots. I gawped at the old man, “But… but… how? These weren’t here before!”

“Ahh,” he laughed, “The Elemental looks after its chosen. You will find that the backpack holds a good many things you never imagined possible. But you’ll discover that yourself; for now, why not get dressed and begin your journey.”

I nodded, dropping the bedroll as I stood and pulled my new clothes over my naked fur. They fitted perfectly, as did the boots which hugged my feet and instantly felt as though I had worn them for years. One last item was missing. At my feet sat the backpack, the start of all this insanity. Bending, I repacked it, strapping the bedroll away and fastening it tight, before, with a deliberately exaggerated motion, I slung it over my shoulders onto my back and stood, no longer just HeadBurro Antfarm, but now HeadBurro Antfarm The Chosen. HeadBurro Antfarm The Seeker. HeadBurro Antfarm The Last Hope. HeadBurro Antfarm The Terminally Confused. HeadBurro Antfarm The Hopelessly Lost. Oh God!

I turned to gaze into the forest behind me, its tall trees soaring into a beautifully clear sky, birds and insects calling in its depths, the same depths that held (I hoped) the first clues to my task. “I best make a start then,” I said turning to the old man. He was gone! I spun round, searching for him between the buildings of Cowell, but there was no trace he had ever been with me at all.

Running my hand over my furred head, I kicked dirt on to the embers of the dying fire and headed off to explore Cowell further…

Backapcking Burro: The Elemental

“The Inside?” I asked, “Of… the backpack?”

The disembodied voice giggled joyfully, “Well of course. Where else would I be?”

I had no idea, but by this point I had decided that any rational arguments or answers had been well and truly ruled null and void. “What am I doing here?”

“I believe you have some questions for me.”

This was an understatement to say the least “Yeah, I do. For a start, why me? Why did you choose me?”

“Ahhh, but you choose me.”

“What? How?”

“You choose me. Now we must see how things develop. See if this was a good choosing,” the voice said with a playful laugh.

The world around me was still pitch back. I didn’t feel in any danger, but at the same time I didn’t like sitting blind whist my host spun around me, popping up at will. “Look, can I see you,” I asked, “I don’t like sitting here in the dark.”

The voice laughed out loud, “Poor childer… frightened of the dark, are we? Is this better?”

The world around me lit up with a queer black light that hurt my eyes and burrowed into my skull. I blinked and looked around, I appeared to be sat on a spit of land by the sea whose black waves washed up behind me with a sound like ball bearings rolling over glass. The grass beneath me was black in colour and the earth a strange shade of grey. The entire scene was lit by a coal black sun suspended on the horizon of a midnight sky. It was if the entire world had been switched to a weird negative version of itself. Of my host, however, there was no sign. “Err, are you here?” I asked nervously.

“Yes,” the voice whispered into my ear, close enough I expected to feel breath on my skin.

“Are you invisible then?”

“Sometimes,” it giggled.

“Right. Well, how about not being. I’ve had a lot of strange things happen today and I’d like to see who the bloody hell I’m talking to!” I snapped.

“Aww, poor childer. Here I am then,” the voice said obviously amused.

With a sound that felt like my own head being turned inside out, a green sphere radiating a strange light and vibrating tendrils of crackling energy appeared. I gasped out loud, the sight of my captor, my tormentor was both beautiful and terrible at the same time. “What… What are you,” I stammered.

“You may call me an Elemental. I am both servant and master of the Eldars. I looked into you and saw your animal spirit guide. I fused you. I am the Inside. You are the Outside. Together we will find the keys.”

My mind reeled. Questions fought for first place out of my mouth. “What is it you want me to do?” won.

The green light pulsed lightly and I had the feeling the Elemental was shaking its ’head’ gently at my slow stupidity. “The Eldars have told you. Their shaman has told you. Must you hear it from me, too? If I have to repeat everything you already know then the war will be upon us all before we can make even the first move to stop it.”

“I’m… err, I’m sorry,” I heard myself say, my cheeks burning in high blush. “Then can you tell me if I am to be stuck like this,” I gestured to my horns and furry skin, “forever?”

“Aha! The vanity of you childer never ceases to amaze me,” the Elements said roaring with laughter. “And to answer you, my child, no. I can return you to your inferior form once you have completed your task.”

“But why was it necessary to fuse me like this?”

“Simple. You will find your gazelle form will help in your task. You are stronger and faster now than you could ever have been, but also you will find you have a more direct connection to the land you have been called to defend. Without being fused, the trials ahead would be nigh on impossible.”

“Trials?” I asked, but the Elemental only laughed. “Well what is my next step then? Where do I start? What am I looking for?”

“Follow the lines,” came the answer.

“Lines? What lines?”

“The shaman will tell you more.”

“No!” I said forcefully. I was not going to be fobbed off again. This… Elemental had chosen me, changed me, now it was damn well going to tell me the whole story. “I’m sick of half tales. You can tell me.” I sounded far braver than I felt, but my gander was up and I wanted some answers.

The green light pulsed slowly, deeply “Hmmm. Impertinence may serve you well I suppose. Very well then, here is a short version, after all what use is handing you all the answers and robbing you of the chance to discover them yourself? The world you know is young, but it is built on a far older reality. The new lords call the structure they have inherited and moulded, The Grid; a pattern of intersecting lines and nodes they have hung their world upon. These lines and nodes were all that was left after the last Great Shamanic War laid ruin to all. They have always been there. They always will. They are the means by which the life energy of the world is transmitted, balanced and stored. Control them and you control the very world they support. This is what the last War was fought for. This is what the next will be fought for. Follow the lines and seek the keys to understanding.”

“Where should I start?” I asked, struggling to understand all I had heard.

“Ahh, now for that you really must speak to the shaman,” the elemental laughed. The green light exploded soundlessly around me and I closed my eyes tight against the sudden glare. When I opened them again, I was face down in the cool grass of Cowell where I fell. I struggled up and blinked across the fire; the old man sat smiling at me. “You bloody drugged me!” I said, my voice dry and husky.

“Yes, well the path to the Inside is not one for the conscious mind,” he said, a little too pleased with himself for my liking. “I hope you feel more… illuminated now.”

Rubbing my temples, I told him I did without expanding any. Instead, I wanted to know my next move.

“Sleep, he replied. “And then in the morning you can begin your quest.”

“But how? Where do I go? What am I looking for?”

“Knowledge.”

“What kind of answer is that?” I demanded.

“A true one. You are seeking knowledge. I would suggest the best place to start would be right here. Cowell and the forest are old and built on older land than you realise. Start your search here and see what happens next. But for now sleep. I shall watch over you tonight.”

He was right. God! I felt tired. Sleep first and then start again with a clear (if somewhat horned) head tomorrow morning. I lay back into the grass, resting my head on the soft leather of my new backpack. The stars above me blinked and shone. The sound of the water lapping at the bay mingled with a low keening that rose as if from nowhere; the shaman was singing to the night and I fancied, as the velvet cloak of sleep took me, that I saw a shimmering light dance about his naked skin.

Backapcking Burro: The Tale

The fire billowed and crackled in the wind, its heat beating back the night on my naked skin. Behind me lay the backpack; I had taken it off as I sat down to listen to the old man’s tale. At the edge of the fire, he had set a small metal cooking pot of water to boil.


"Long before the Linden Clan laid claim to this land,” he started, “people lived here. Lots of people. They lived, loved, fought and died. They built cities, planted forests, cultivated land, sought mastery over the water and the air. And through it all, they were led by their shamen.”

“Shamen like you?” I ventured.

He smiled, his worn tanned face alive in the firelight, “Yes. Shamen like me. Only more so. The Old Ones were far more powerful than we few are now. They knew the true secrets of the world. They could shape land with a thought, open seas with a gesture, bring the beasts of the earth to them with a single call. Now… well, now we are diminished. The Last Great War saw to that.”

“War? The voices mentioned a war.”

“The Elders,” he corrected.

“The Elders, yes, they said a war was coming. Is this true? What kind of war do they mean?”

“If they have foreseen it, it will happen. And it will be terrible if allowed. The Last War laid ruin to the whole earth. The land died. The seas choked and the air turned foul. Once proud cities turned on each other and then, when there was no others left, themselves. A terrible dark time swallowed all. We almost lot everything.” The water in the pot had begun to roll, and he casually dropped a handful of dried leaves into it.

“But who were the Shamen fighting? What was the war over?”

“Oh,” he said his voice heavy with sadness, “what are wars always fought over? Power, land, control. All these things and more. The Old Ones had grown powerful, but with such power comes great responsibilities. Some Shamen decided that not for them were the Agreements written. They decided that the world and all its contents were their by right, to do with as they wanted. The Grove did not agree. When beings of great power disagree, even minor disagreements have devastating consequences for those around them. The disagreements quickly escalated to war. Almost too late the Elders stepped in. They stopped the war, they removed the power from the Shamen, they remoulded the world to make such a gathering of power all but impossible ever again.”

“All but impossible is not impossible,” I pointed out.

“Yes.”

“I see. I take it you are saying someone is looking to gain the power of the Old Shamen.”

“Yes,” he repeated.

“And that someone does not have the best of intentions?”

“Yes.” He said suddenly looking tired beyond belief. He dropped a small pinch of dried herbs into the pot and let it boil on.

“But where do I fit in? I mean, why me? Out of all the people here now. Why me?”

“You have been chosen. You have been chosen to find the key to stopping the war before it starts.”

“How? And what is the key?”

“I… we do not know,” he looked into the fire, unable to meet my eye. He took the pot off the fire and slowly poured the steaming liquid into two small red cups similar to the one I had found in the back backpack earlier.

“What?” I shouted, “What do you mean you don’t know? You must! I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“Well, the backpack chose you. Why not ask it?”, he handed me a cup over the flames, “Tea?” he offered.

I took the cup without thinking, “Ask it? Ask it? It’s a bloody backpack if you hadn’t noticed!” I swigged the tea back, ignoring the heat. “How do you suggest I ask a bloody backpack anything?” I fell sideways, unconscious by the time my head hit the ground.

My eyes opened but all was black. Less than one day had passed and this was the third time I had been rendered unconscious. I was getting a wee bit fed up if the truth was known. I sat up. I couldn’t see the floor beneath me but I could certainly feel it. “Hello?” I shouted, not too loudly but enough to suggest I was hoping for a reply.

A slight laugh reached my ears, a sound like crystal glasses rolling together.

“Hello,” I said, this time just loud enough for someone next to me to hear.

“Hello,” the glassy voice laughed in my ear, “welcome to the Inside.”

Backapcking Burro: The Elders

Mercifully, as I slipped my arms through the backpack straps, there was no repeat of the pain I had felt the first time I had put it on. There was no eerie green light, no passing out or falling over. Nothing in fact. Well, almost nothing. I could feel a slight tingle in my (I could hardly believe I was thinking the words) horns. A small vibration that seemed to be moving downwards from the tips to my head. In no time I could feel it – hear it almost – in my skull. The would around me began to shimmer, as if suddenly touched by a vibrating tuning fork. The village about me, the forest beyond and the old man all blurred before slowly dissolving into nothingness leaving me standing in a void of immense blackness. Slowly, as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness, I began to pick out points of light. They grew in size and number; points becoming spots; spots becoming patches; patches becoming patterns of stars and constellations. It seemed I was floating in the infinite void of space!

“Welcome,” said a voice that at once sounded like boulders rolling down a hill and water playing on pebbles, “Be at peace.” I found myself moving backwards, relaxing until I felt I was laid out floating in some immense, becalmed ocean.

“Who are you?” I asked, a nervous tone in my voice.

“We are many. We are all many.”

This, I mused, did not help. “What have you done to me?” I asked with a bolder edge to my voice.

“What was necessary.”

“Necessary? Necessary for what?”

“For the times ahead.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, by now getting a little angry, “What have you done to me? Why have you changed me into this… this thing? What do you want?”

“We have released your spirit guide. We have joined you. You will need to be one for the times ahead.”

“What ‘times ahead’?” I all but shouted, “Just tell me what you want!”

A sudden push downwards, as though a rope around my waist had be attached to a galloping horse, and I was careering through the void, lights and colours blurring around me. I felt sick and heard myself bellowing for them to stop. Without warning, I was still again, fighting to hold in the waves of nausea that now welled up within me.

“Do not presume to take that tone with us!” the voice roared full of splintering rock, “You have been chosen!”

“Chosen for what?” I shouted back.

“For the times ahead,” the voice replied, once more babbling brook and rolling stones.

“Please, I don’t understand…”

“There is a war approaching.”

“A war?”

“You must find the methods to win it for us.”

“Methods? What methods? What war?”

“The host will guide you.”

“The host?” As soon as I asked, my backpack twitched and thrilled with excited energy. My host. My guide.

“The host will guide you.”

I was about to ask more, but before I could, I once again felt a tingle in my horns and in the queer light of distant stars, I fancied I saw an odd thin bubble of some sort spreading from behind begin to envelop me. Once I was surrounded, my vision once more blurred and I passed from the void back to my own world and into the village of Cowell. Although I felt I had been gone but minutes, hours must have passed for it was now night. The old man sat cross legged under the stars, only a small fire to keep him warm.

“Welcome back,” he said. “Sit by the fire and let me tell you of the last Great Shamanic War.

Backapcking Burro: The Old Man

Looking back now, my panicked flight through the forest and hills of Kahruvel seems like little more than a series of photographs: still images burnt into my mind. I know I was scared – how could I be anything else? – but I can recall little else. I wanted to get out of the forest, away from the silent trees and back to people and noise and life. I was so desperate that it was only as I burst from the forest and bounded across the small bridge the divides Kahruvel’s southern border with Cowell I noticed the speed with which I now ran, and how surefooted I was. Hell! I seemed as fast and as graceful as… as… No! I could not even think the word! Instead I bounded down the stone steps, dozens at a time, and raced over the arced bridge that crosses the canal. At its apex I launched myself off into the air and leapt the twenty metres onto the far bank where I ran past the workshop and towards the lighthouse at full speed.

It was empty. In fact Cowell seemed deserted and the only sounds I could hear were my ragged breaths and my heart pounding inside my chest. Desperate I called out for help. No one answered. I ran to the nearest window to peer through, but instead I caught my own reflection and my blood ran cold. My head was domed and bald, the skin a light fawn colour whilst my face was a chiselled pattern of snow white. Atop my head rose two curved, black horns sweeping backwards and upwards half a metre above me.

And my eyes… oh God! my eyes! The pupils were onxy ovaloid slits, like those of a cat, whilst the iris was a shifting, twisting pattern of red and yellow flames – the two married to give the terrible impression my eyes were flaming shards of dark coal continually burning in my skull.

I gasped out loud and staggered back from the window, trying to put distance between me and the horror reflected.

I shouted for help, desperate for someone - anyone to hear me and come to my aid, but Cowell was as silent as the forest had been when I found that blasted backpack. The backpack! I was still wearing it! If only I had thought – this was the source of all my terror. The moment I had put it on, I had changed. All I had to do was remove it… throw it away and I would be normal again.

I tore at the straps, wrenched the damn thing off and heaved it as far away as I could. It landed in a cloud of dust and dirt and rolled to a halt some ten metres from me. I looked at my hands, willing them to change back, begging under my breath for the skin to return back to normal. They remained white. I sobbed out loud and fell to my knees, tears stinging my eyes.

“Your spirit animal would appear to be a gazelle, young man”, a voice behind me said. I spun round and fell backwards on to my backside, hands scrabbling in the dirt to push my away from its source.

A near-naked old man, skin like leather and long hair pulled back into a ponytail, stood watching me. My mouth flapped uselessly. “Take your time,” he said, “you will have many questions all wanting to get out at once. Let them come.”

“What… what has happened to me?” I shouted, the fear in my voice making it strange to my ears.

“Ah. A big question first. You may not be ready for the answer, but I shall tell you anyway. You have changed. Been reborn.”

“Reborn?” I repeated, “Did… oh God, did I die? Am I dead?”

The old man furrowed his brow and looked at me if I were a rather stupid child, “Dead? Of course not. Would you be here talking to me now if you were dead?” It occurred to me I had no idea if I would or not, but my mind was in too much turmoil to raise the point, “You have been reborn into a new body, a mixture of your old body and that of your spirit animal guide. In your case, it would seem that of a gazelle.”

“But how? Why?” I asked.

“How is easier than why. How is due to the backpack you elected to throw over there,” he flicked his nose to where the pack lay, “But why is down to the fact you have been chosen.”

“Chosen? By who?”

“By whom,” He corrected me. “By the backpack, of course.”

My head was spinning. Chosen? By the backpack? Nothing made sense. Maybe the pack had fallen on me after all and I was laying on the forest floor, unconscious, dreaming, dying.

“No,” he said “you are not in the forest laying in a coma. This is real and happening now to you.”

“But… look at me? Can I change back?”

“Yes. Once the backpack trusts you.”

“Trusts me? How can a backpack trust me?”

“A good question, although I suspect you do not know why. To answer the question you think you have asked, you should ask how can a backpack change you into a gazelle. To answer the question you should have asked, you need to put it on again. It will inform you of what you have to do.”

“There is no way I’m putting that damned backpack on again!” I shouted, my voice full of panic, “Never!”

“Then how do you hope to return to your old form?” the man asked quietly, with a faint smile about his eyes. I had no answer. My eyes darted between the pack and the old man, searching for any way I could think of to make this all go away. Any sliver of rationality I could grasp. I could find none. My shoulders sagged as I realised I had no choice, or rather a series of unpalatable choices.

“I really have to wear it again?”

“Yes.”

“Will it… will it hurt me again? Will I die?”

“No.”

I wanted to ask him to promise but couldn’t bring myself to. It was just too… whiney.

“I promise,” he said, smiling.

There was nothing for it. What did I have to lose? I reached for the backpack…

Backapcking Burro: The Changing

Nothing. The backpack (aside from a bedroll, a folded up waterproof mac, a small flint fire-starting kit, and a blackened tin cooking pot) held no clue as to the owner. I searched through the pockets and found only a small red cup of the most exquisite china, a waxed-paper sachet of what smelt like a delicate green tea, and a curiously engraved folding camera. There was nothing for it but to re-pack it and take it with me out of the forest… maybe someone at the lighthouse in Cowell would be able to help locate its owner.

The moment my arms slipped through the straps an explosion of pain shot through my spine. There was a sound like shearing metal and I was engulfed in a foul green light that blinded me to the forest around…

As if falling through molasses, I began to tumble backwards…

My mind, slipping into unconsciousness, was filled with terrible images… my clothes torn from my body…My limbs stretching, curving… My skull changing shape, sharp ebony-black horns sprouting upwards…

My skin thickening, changing texture and colour…

Until, finally, darkness took me and I dreamt no more...

An aeon passed.

I was lost in the darkness.

Voices spoke to me. Whispered to me. Sung to me. They told me truths and lies I could not tell apart and their songs spun around me like angry hornets.

An aeon passed.

My eyes flickered open. I felt sick. My head echoed with voices fading like morning mist.

I had no way of knowing how long I had been unconscious. I staggered to my feet and tried to force my bleary eyes to focus. The eerie green light was still around me but it seemed to by dying, the sunlight slowly reclaiming the forest. I stood in the silence, waiting for my head to stop spinning and looked down at the ground. It was only then I realised my shoes were missing and my naked feet were… white! Pure, snow white. My legs, too. And my stomach. In fact, most of my skin was now cloud white or fawn brown. My hands shot to my face – it felt strange somehow, familiar yet different at the same time, and when my fingers ran over my now-bald head I gasped out loud as they found two solid, bone-like protuberances… I had horns!

Dear God! What had I become…?

Backapcking Burro: The Beginning

It all started with the backpack.

I had been hiking in the hills near the village of Cowell when I stumbled across it, not hard to do as it suddenly, and with no warning, fell out of the trees directly in front of me. Naturally I looked up, expecting to find some poor soul trapped in the branches of one of the tall forest trees but I saw no one. I was, as far as I could tell, alone. In fact, the forest was suddenly unnaturally quiet. Still, back then I was not a supernatural sort and merely told myself that the sudden impact of the backpack onto the bare earth track (and, to my shame, my rather loud use of a rather choice piece of Anglo Saxon) had rendered the forest wildlife mute with understandable apprehension.

I cupped my hands to my mouth and broke the silence with shouts of “Hello!” and “Anyone there? Are you alright?”. I heard nothing in reply. I circled the area, careful not to lose a centre point on the mysterious backpack, to see if I could find anyone rendered unconscious by injury... or worse. But again, I found nothing.

I returned to the pack and bent to examine it. The dust raised by its impact had settled on its brown leather form, but even through the dirt I could clearly see it was well-cared for. It was also rather obviously old; not for this backpack the reinforced tubular steel piping and skin of aerodynamically formed weather resistant materials who names invariably ended with ‘TEX’ that mark today's packs. No, this pack was a simple pouch with straps, a few side pockets and several useful looking implements strapped around it; rope, a compass and gleaming machete leaping out, but odd little pouches dotted here and there that were not immediately obvious. What to do? Should I leave it here? Take it with me? Should I look through for some clue as to the owner?

Again I called out. Again I received no answer. I waited, straining to listen to the forest, but it was as quiet as before, a fact that was scratching away at the more ‘nervy’ areas of my sub-conscious. But I convinced myself that having a backpack drop from above in an unoccupied forest and nearly knock me out cold was always going to get my imagination working overtime and that any touch of the jitters I was feeling was probably down to adrenaline. Probably.

There was nothing for it. I was going to have to open the backpack and see if I could discover more about the owner. Kneeling, I began to open it...